The Absurdity of the Sixth Horcrux
by coffee-stained lips
Summary: Voldemort decides on creating another Horcrux, and Snape is rendered speechless at what it is. Oneshot. /AVPM-related/


**This a response to "A Very Potter Challenge" over on the HPFC forum. I love me some HP and AVPM! This kinda focuses more on Snape than Voldemort, but the quote _was_ by Snape, so. The quote is "That's absurd!" and the character is "Voldemort"! I added a sprinkle of Draco, because I adore him (Book- and Musical-wise) and Lauren Lopez very, very much. This is done more in the style of "A Very Potter Musical" but all of you who are book and movie fans only might be amused too - hopefully.**

Snape's shoes clicked against the stone hallway, echoing across the way. As much as he tried to quell the loud clicks they made, his old tap shoes wouldn't cease their _tappity-tap-tap_ noise. In an attempt to at least soften them, Snape held his cloak against the rest of his being, stretching it long over his shoes. Alas, the clicks continued.

"Oh, dang thess confounded tap shoes!" he hissed all of a sudden, leaning against the wall to rip them off. They clattered against the ground one last time, and then clicked no more. Snape caressed a greasy strand of hair and moved it out of his face, and continued his swagger down to the dungeons.

He made sure to be quiet as he strode past the Slytherin dormitories, not wanting to raise suspicion—they were Slytherins, of course, spawn of the Death Eaters, the servants of Lord Voldemort, blah blah, blah, but there was bound to be at least one inarticulate, tattling bubble who would flounce to Dumbledore at a moment's notice. And so, he crept, still in the night like a panther. Thankfully no sound escaped through the common room, except for a soft humming of "Granger" from what sounded like Draco Malfoy, but Snape disregarded it—Draco would obviously not be daydreaming (or night-dreaming, though he wasn't asleep, so daydreaming may've constituted as the correct word—oh, where was a wizard dictionary when you needed one?) of and singing about the Gryffindor dog-face at quarter to midnight.

After having passed the Slytherin common room completely with no fear of followers, Snape tucked himself away into one separate cell; it was damp, and rats skittered about. The rank stench of death and filth hung in the air, suffocating Snape and making his hair even oilier—it was heavenly!

Hiding deep in the shadows of the cell was a vague shape, distorted and misshapen. The sparkly amethyst and ruby robes reminded Snape of his fellow professor Quirrell, and he knew it was the right cell. With a gracious wave of his gloved hand, he cried out "My Lord! I bow before thee!" He generously bowed. The shape turned around and walked toward him, and Snape clearly saw the smirking face of Quirrell.

"Hello, good sir," greeted the usually timid professor, who now appeared bold and proud before Snape. Snape's eyes widened, not out of surprise but of habit, and tightened his lips.

"Who is it, Quirrell?" said a wheezy voice from behind the first man, "Who's here? I can't see, you know that!" Quirrell blushed, sputtered an apology, and whirled around to reveal another smirking face, this time one of a man Snape knew all too well.

"Ah, Severus Snape!" he cried, "Fancy meeting you here…in the bowels of Hogwarts." Before he could stop, a snigger had escaped Quirrell's mouth, and Voldemort too began to laugh. Snape waved out his arms, scrutinizing the chortling men—man?—with curious distaste.

"What the devil is going on here?" he shouted. Voldemort shook his head as Quirrell ceased laughing, and muttered a soft "Bowels."

"N-Nothing, Severus, nothing of your concern." he assured, stepping forward with Quirrell's body, which made for a short, jerky journey. The two moved as one near the rickety cot against the wall, and made a complex effort to sit comfortably. They—he? _it_?—had to settle for one leg on the hard bed and the other dangling above the floor, and Quirrell's head close to the moist wall. Snape watched on with amusement.

"Now then," grunted Voldemort after he'd settled into a somewhat comfy position, "I suppose you know why I've called you down here, Severus?" Snape, in reality, had no recollection of the Dark Lord giving critical information concerning their meeting. All he could remember was a swift discussion with a drunken Quirrell down at the tavern about the "cell" nearby the Slytherin "frat house" about a "high school's musical". Snape knew better than to one hundred-percent accept this as the correct information, especially since the topic was high school musicals. He really hadn't noticed the Slytherin dormitory being referred to as a "frat house".

"Er, partially, my Lord," Snape said, eyes roving around the rest of the cell, "I do recall something about, uh, 'high school', but I'm not quite sure if that is"—dramatic pause for effect—"correct." Voldemort looked quizzical, but then sighed angrily, and hissed something at Quirrell, who apologized fervently like a child being scolded by a father.

"What I _meant_," Voldemort said, voice rising, "is that I have to discuss with you about my thoughts on creating a sixth Horcrux." Snape gasped; Quirrell gasped; the rats gasped; Snape could've sworn he heard a gasp from the Slytherin common room, but that was obviously imagined, as Draco's song of "falling in love, falling in love" resumed immediately after—too immediate to be from him.

Snape stumbled back into reality. "A sixth Horcrux?" he wheezed, "Why, that's absurd! You've already made five (possibly six) Horcruxes! Why would you make a—?"

"Because, Severus, I have found an object that will be totally unsuspected and completely indestructible!" Voldemort cried, jerkily standing; but that resulted in him falling to the ground atop Quirrell, who struggled to breathe beneath him. Voldemort took no notice.

"What"—a wave of his arms—"could that possibly be?" commanded Snape. Voldemort smiled.

"Why, the only thing on this earth worth having." He struggled to a sitting position, Quirrell gasping behind him. "Something no one will expect, but will—if found out—render the destroyer hopeless, as they would never kill something as precious as this." He gesticulated with Quirrell's fingers towards another corner. "I'm taking about _that_."

Snape had to do it, despite his fear; what horrid object could be so malicious, so immortal, that it would be such a powerful Horcrux? Even though a Horcrux was already one of the most wickedly amazing wizard items, what specific item could "render the destroyer hopeless"? With a gulp, and a sneer, Snape glided to the corner. He could see, in the shadows, a rectangular thing taking up space. It was obviously a poster, tucked away neatly, but of what it was Snape knew not. As cautiously as he could manage, he pulled the poster from its resting place and held it up to see.

A Zefron poster.

So transfixed by awe and wonder, Snape dropped the poster to the ground. There, before him, was one of the godliest men on Earth, immortalized in Xerox. He contemplated kneeling, in the presence of such a thing, but refused to even as his kneecaps edged near the stony, damp floor. When he looked up through his grease-drenched hair, Voldemort looked awestruck as well, but attempted to suppress it.

"It's…it's…" Snape stuttered, "OMG."

"Yes, Severus." said Voldemort, nodding as he admired the tan coating the Zefron's abs. "Yes…he is real." Snape could hardly breathe, let alone speak. Swallowing every drop of saliva he could to moisten his throat, he spoke:

"How did you attain such a relict?" He caressed the poster's cover lovingly, mouth open in astonishment. Voldemort shrugged.

"Let's just say I…know a guy."

"Yes, yes!" Quirrell chimed in, "Professor McGonagall put up quite a struggle, but I obliviated her memory, so now she thinks it's Corbin Bleu whom she fancies." A horrified shudder from Snape. "Yes, yes, cruel, I know, to compare the Zefron with that frizzy-haired half-blood, but we must do as our Dark—as Voldemort wants." He grinned, a quirky grin, one that almost annoyed Snape.

"Anyhow!" Voldemort screamed, shutting up the others, "I have already deposited a part of our being into the—yes, Quirrell, a bit of you too. You realize mines connected to yours, right? Geez—poster, but I wanted your opinion on it, Severus. Personally, I quite like it. And it shall be your job to give it to Dumbledore. Do you understand?" Snape shivered; Dumbledore would greatly appreciate the present, as he believed he loved Zefron the most, but it seemed almost too much of a risk to not blow his cover. Dumbledore knew the risks Snape took, but to entrust a dangerous Horcrux to Dumbledore seemed so terrible. _Albus can take care of it,_ Snape told himself, _If anyone can do this, it's Albus._

And so he nodded. "Yes, Master, I shall deliver this unto Dumbledore at dawn. He will, of course, frame it and show it off in his office, but such an obvious Horcrux it will be that no one will think to inspect it. Your soul is safe in my hands, my liege." He bowed. Voldemort, already bored with the conversation, yawned.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, "Well, now that _that's_ done with, how about we all go out for some Firewhiskey? On…uh, Quirrell. Right, Q?"

"Sure thing, LV!" Quirrell replied, happy to be included.

"Oh, but I must be leaving," Snape said, "Best get this there as soon as possible." Voldemort bobbed his head, his gaunt face looking paler in the moonlight.

"Of course. Well, ciao, Severus!"

"Goodbye."

Snape hurriedly swept down the hall, poster hidden beneath his cloak, toward his office. Already his explanation to Dumbledore was forming; he would have to explain calmly, or Dumbledore would get much too excited at the sight of a Zefron poster.

Suddenly, he heard a childlike gasp.

Snape whirled around, gloved hand on his wand, to see a pajama-clad Draco before him. The boy's mouth was open in amazement. He raised one finger, and the Barney cartoons on his PJs glowed as they hit the light.

"Is that…? Is that…?" he whispered, "Is that…? A _Zefron_ poster?" _Drat, I mustn't blow my cover!_ thought Snape, _Why, if that little snot sees this, I'll never hear the end of it!_ He flicked his hair off his face, tucking the poster deeper into the abyss of his robes.

"Why, that's absurd!" he said, "Why, Little D, would I have a Zefron poster at midnight in the dungeons?" Draco looked ashamed, but he quickly became pale with fright.

"You're running an illegal, underground Disney trade!" he said, "And that's one of the prizes! Oh!"

"Why, that's even _more_ absurd!" Snape shouted, and he clipped Draco with one hand. The boy held his ear, whimpering. "Now, stop being so stupid—at least _Granger_ has a brain!" This was a cruel stab, and Draco recognized it; he blushed as maroon as half a Gryffindor tie, and tugged at his Barney pajama sleeve.

"I-I must get to bed," he said, walking back to the common room, "I'm seeing things." With that, Snape was again alone. He strode back towards his office, undeterred, even as Quirrell and Voldemort's cackles resounded throughout the dungeons, drunkenly cracking jokes and singing show tunes.


End file.
